


size too small

by futile_devices



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: M/M, also lettin them have a lil rest in camp, also yeah im letting them joke around because. yeah. sue me, i have to apologize before. just as a general. for like every aspect of this, i honestly dont even know how to tag this, i was the best man in a size too small, i wrote this instead of doing homework and frankly i should have been doing homework, one sided pining, rlly sorry levail from the bottom of my damn heart, sorry again. its just sufjan stevens always, theres. i dont even know what this is, you were my best friend going at it all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 07:06:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17844710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futile_devices/pseuds/futile_devices
Summary: A sharp exhale of air, likely an attempt at laughter from Zelgius. “We fight for different men, but our loyalty is the same, is it not?” (a lie, and he knows it)“As knights ought to be.”“Yes, they must.”(of course, one should not bring to light how improper it is to abandon your liege for another. knights do not swear to other knights, do they, or at the very least good ones)





	size too small

“General.” 

The voice resounds from the tent, echoing, nearly, in the silence that had settled between the two. only that voice, and faint song and cheering that deafened the crackling camp fires (for the moon was not yet too high for the army to deny their celebrations from a victory well won). There is noise, as well, in how the general’s armor rattles as he shifts to the source, setting down a quill upon parchment laying on the desk. The source is a most trusted aide, perhaps the only trusted soldier for both the general and the man beneath the metal plating (even if he refuses to shed it in the faint lamplight), who looks upon the general and sees much more than can be written in the common word. 

Zelgius merely gives a hum in response, meeting Levail’s gaze. 

“I am sure the men will not object if you were to join the festivities. In fact, I believe they may be waiting for you.” The glory of their forces, after all. but the light is far too dim for this hero, Levail thinks, and it must be right for his just dues be paid, or at least be celebrated for what he is. Oh of course, he is a serious man, far too occupied on the war table and the little statuettes of soldiers, and when he is not, then the general is far too occupied with the state of his army, for each and every tent should stand tall and no soldier go barefoot or unarmed. And speeches, too, must not remain unwritten, for where else would their foot soldiers and archers and proud cavalry look toward for inspiration and morale? Surely a man such as that could act like a simple man, if only for an hour or two. 

But the general sighs, heavy, telling of the world and all its troubles. All its troubles that the General of the Central Imperial Army is charged with, as well as the Earl of Kadohl, and all the other facets of the man that Levail cannot speak of. “They will enjoy it regardless of my presence. I might object that you should count yourself among them. You fought well.” As the lieutenant would always hope to, for that beacon of light with which he can see the rising of better days upon the horizon. Reform, and that may not be all that he wishes for in his controlled arm and each thrust of his blade (but those are thoughts not so readily spoken of). “You have your leave, lieutenant.” And the general picks up his quill, resuming the line of steady ink strokes: requests for more munitions and a report of the latest battle, all to be sent to Sienne. 

(there is another sheet of parchment below that remains empty, words to be written further in the night)

“I am fine here, General Zelgius. No man should be left alone, even our great general.” In fairness, their tent is shared, and the lieutenant finds himself comfortable upon a cushion, polishing extra blades (one must always be prepared upon the battlefield, and one must always make himself useful; there is no place for an empty handed soldier). 

“If you so wish, Levail, but do not resign yourself from leaving if you wish.” 

And the night wanes further, in still their relative silence of the space in which they share. Taps and strokes upon parchment, quiet hums, and shiftings, but neither move. Peaceful, in some sense of the word, as the clamor from beyond their sphere fades from their mind, to be ignored as trivial matters are. It is not their place. (for Levail knows where his place should lie, and such is to be expected from a loyal soldier. there is nothing wrong in that.) 

“Levail?” it is the general, this time, who breaks their silence. His eyes are not lifted from his duties, and he continues to write. 

The lieutenant, though, sets aside the lance upon his lap and turns to the desk near the center of their tent. “Yes?” 

“Will you return to Gaddos after the war?” (as if it is so simple, but zelgius should play this act, for it is all he knows how) 

Levail takes a moment to ponder, and would he? “If there is no need for me in Sienne by that time, then I do not see why not.” Who could speak for the needs for an empire, the needs of a continent plunged in the politics and struggle of reconstruction. Of course, one might ask what need would a peaceful world need of a boy raised to be a soldier, but there is always someone who needs to be protected, Levail supposes. If the world were simpler, then he might answer differently, but he knows not yet if it should emerge so from the ashes of this turmoil. “I do miss my siblings, though, and to be beside my family once more… My duty is foremost, but…” he leaves the rest unfinished. Surely the general would understand, and if not him, then the man beneath. (perhaps he could find astrid again, wherever did she run off to… an old friend would be a welcome sight as well)

“I understand, Levail.” and his voice falls lower, dipping through some trench, but the heaviness is faint. The general, however, says no more. 

“Do you have family waiting for you, General Zelgius. I am sure they’d be proud to hear of-” Levail pauses near the end, in realization. “Forgive me, I… I am sorry if that is much to ask.” 

(so evident in a quiet questions that he has named a stranger the champion of the world he hopes to live in) 

Zelgius waves it off, now looking up, yet still holding the implement in his other hand. “Peace, Levail.” Then a deep breath, followed by a similar silence as the man attempts to collect what he may say and what he should not. “I do not think my family is awaiting my return, not as yours would be.” And that is not wrong (if they even remembered his name, if they were even alive with what time spans between them, Zelgius is ignorant, but that is for the best if that is what Fate so designed for him. He is not a man to deny what was given to him, only accept it in some display of martyrdom and self blame). 

“Not even old friends?” How sad that must be, Levail thinks, and how unfair to one who is so esteemed, so holds upon the grandest of heights with ease and only cracks to be shone in deep sighs and stirring in the depths of night. If he were bolder, the lieutenant might even say that he would be waiting, but that is too brash, too vulnerable, even for a loyal knight. 

There is no sign that general stumbles upon that question, a foreign concept to be given to someone such as himself and something of a youthful air that had left him years ago. “I do not believe so. I think you make me out to be a far more sociable man that I am, Levail.” 

Levail laughs at that, somewhat faint or stifled, but enough. “Forgive me, I only thought that the General Zelgius would be popular, even before he took his vows.” 

That, too, is an amusing thought. 

“Not outside the army, nor do I think the common people count as friends. We must serve them, of course, and they may hold parades in our homecoming, but I do not think that I should count them as personally waiting.” 

“Fair enough, General.” 

“I do hold hopes in seeing Her Imperial Majesty once more, and of course to return at my station at Persis, if that is what you are asking. I am sure you are the same.” 

“I would not compare Duke Gaddos and Duke Persis so easily.” (he could remember astrids pleas, tears that fell so easily from a flower that he once thought so delicate, and how he, in the end, was the one too weak to act)

A sharp exhale of air, likely an attempt at laughter from Zelgius. “We fight for different men, but our loyalty is the same, is it not?” (a lie, and he knows it) 

“As knights ought to be.”

“Yes, they must.” 

(of course, one should not bring to light how improper it is to abandon your liege for another. knights do not swear to other knights, do they, or at the very least good ones) 

“Will Duke Gaddos find another suitor, or has he… retired from that attempt?” 

“I’ve received no letters on the like. I doubt the war allows for such light hearted things.” and he speaks that behind tempered rage, but it is airy enough to flow upon the same line of their conversation. “Why do you ask?” 

The general pauses before answering. “I did not know what else to say.” 

A small smile graces Levail’s lips. “Ah, then does Persis have any plans of that kind?” 

There is a quiet clatter from the quill, which had lazily rested in the general’s fingers, as it drops onto the table. A short distance, two inches or so below. “Duke Culbert has oft asked me the same, but I have no answer for him.” 

“I see… Do you believe we’ve reached our quota of gossip?” 

“Most likely.” 

Silence, once more, and a longer respite, the only noise this time is the shuffling of parchment. A new letter.


End file.
